“I’m always sure.”
His laugh is low, almost disbelieving—but his hands are anything but hesitant. They skate down my sides, deliberate, reverent, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of me through touch alone. And I let him. I arch into him, needing more, needingeverything.
He shifts his hips, grinding down, and I can’t help the moan that tears out of me.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “You make me want so much.”
“Yeah? What do you want right now?” I whisper, my fingers curling into his back, dragging down lightly—just enough to make him shiver.
Silas’s gaze pins me in place. Dark. Heavy. Unapologetic.
“You,” he says, voice wrecked. “Laid out for me. Writhing under me.Mine.”
I swear my entire body clenches around those words.
His mouth crashes back to mine—hot, hungry, a little desperate now—and I meet it just as fiercely. My nails dragging down his back. The weight of him on me is everything I’ve ever wanted.
He grinds down again, and I moan into his mouth.
Clothes disappear in pieces—his sweats pushed down just enough, my borrowed sweatshirt pulled off, boxers stripped off. It’s messy, clumsy in places, but it doesn’t matter. Because we can’t stop touching. Kissing. It’s as if we are both starving and have finally been allowed to eat.
Silas breaks away long enough to murmur, “Turn over.”
I hesitate—just for a second. Then I obey. The cushions shift as he settles on his knees behind me, palms skimming down my back. He’s slow with it. To the point I feel like squirming. I glance over my shoulder.
“You said you wanted me laid out,” I say, breath hitching. “What are you waiting for?”
He runs his fingers over the curve of my ass, squeezing slightly as he nudges my legs further apart, then runs the tip of his finger around my rim. My legs shake at just that contact; my cock is leaking all over his couch cushions. He’ll need them cleaned after this, but that’s a later problem.Right now all I can focus on is that single finger hovering near my entrance.
I shift back, and the tip of his finger prods me. I moan.
“You’re a needy little thing, aren’t you?” Silas says, as he leans forward and drops a kiss on my spine.
“Only for you,” I whisper, barely recognizing my own voice.
“Good. Because you’re mine.” He runs his hands back up my sides.
A shiver rolls down my spine, stealing my breath.His.
God. The way he says it—low and possessive andcertain—sinks into something deep inside me. Something I didn’t realize was still starved.
I want to argue, maybe. Make a joke. Deflect. But my mouth won’t work. All I can do is nod, my forehead brushing the couch cushion as my fingers curl around the fabric.
Because Iwantto be his.
That’s the scariest part.
His hands smooth down my back again, slow and sure. His touch isn’t hurried. It’s patient. Purposeful. He cups my hips, then slides one hand lower, teasing the tight muscle where I want him most, making me tremble all over again.
“I’m going slow,” he murmurs, lips brushing the top of my spine. “Not because I don’t want you—because I do.So much.But because I need you to know this isn’t just sex for me, Luke.”
I glance over my shoulder. He meets my eyes.
And fuck, thewayhe looks at me—it’s not just lust anymore. It’s affection. Ownership. Something like awe.
“I know this is you letting me in,” he says, voice rough. “And I’m not going to break that trust.”
He moves back slightly, and I feel the loss immediately.
